


They Stumble That Run Fast

by tinzelda



Series: The One That Matters Series [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Romeo and Juliet are idiots, Yurio, Yurio takes Otabek home to meet Grandpa, Yurio’s POV, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 20:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19069978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda/pseuds/tinzelda
Summary: On a trip home to Moscow to celebrate his grandfather’s birthday, Yurio tries to get his temper under control and figure out exactly where he stands with Otabek.





	They Stumble That Run Fast

Public transportation was a gamble. Yuri always felt like he was on display. People were bored on buses and trains, so fans often recognized him.

Their train car wasn’t very crowded, and because they had left in the middle of the day, when many were in school or at work, it was mostly older people or parents traveling with young children. They were wrapped up in their own concerns, but still, the lack of an escape route put Yuri on edge.

Otabek, however, seemed relaxed, listening to music on his phone and watching the scenery whipping by outside the window. Occasionally, he brushed his fingertips over Yuri’s hand or bumped their knees together. These subtle affectionate gestures left Yuri tingling with happiness, but he played it cool.

“I meant to ask you,” Otabek said as he pulled one of his earbuds out. “Did you already get your grandfather a birthday present? Should I get something?”

Yuri shook his head. “He doesn’t need things. He always says that.”

“We should do something special to celebrate.”

“He just wants me to visit,” Yuri said. “That’s what he told me.”

“Okay.”

Otabek stuck his earbud back in, then slouched in his seat until their shoulders were pressed together.

Now that Otabek had brought it up, Yuri couldn’t stop thinking about it. Grandpa truly didn’t want a present, but Yuri didn’t want Otabek to think he was a pompous jerk, like he thought a visit from him should be gift enough for anyone.

Yuri nudged Otabek with his elbow. When Otabek turned, Yuri gestured for him to take his earbuds out again.

“Maybe I should get him something. But he always says he doesn’t need anything.”

After a moment’s consideration, Otabek said, “We could make him a nice dinner.”

Yuri snorted. “I can’t cook.”

“I’ll help,” Otabek said.

“You’ll help me make a disgusting mess?”

Otabek’s eyes smiled a little, even if his mouth didn’t.

“Let me rephrase that,” he said. “I’ll cook and you’ll help me.”

“You can cook?”

“A little. Is he adventurous?”

Yuri narrowed his eyes at Otabek. “Why? What are you going to make?”

“When I was training in Montreal, my roommate was from Texas. He taught me to make Mexican food.”

“I think Grandpa would at least try it.”

Grandpa was the guy who invented katsudon piroshki, after all.

 _Dammit_ , Yuri thought. _I meant to ask him to make those again_.

He considered calling right that minute, but it wouldn’t be fair to expect Grandpa to rush out for ingredients if he hadn’t already planned to make piroshki, especially when he’d promised to pick them up at the station.

“Anyway, I don’t think Grandpa would be afraid of a little spice.”

“Hmm,” Otabek said. “I don’t know if we can find the right spices. We could go out tomorrow and look. Is there a decent market nearby?”

Yuri shrugged. “Grandpa always takes care of that kind of thing.”

“I’ll call my mother. She’s a good cook,” Otabek said, already dialing. “She’ll know what to substitute if we can’t find the right stuff.”

He turned his attention to his phone. “It’s Beka,” he said, before launching into an explanation of the trip to Moscow and the birthday dinner plan.

Yuri wouldn’t have thought that Otabek would be a nickname kind of person, but he liked it. _Otabek_ sounded like an ancient Kazakh general. Not that Otabek didn’t have a decidedly stoic side, but _Beka_ seemed to better suit the quiet, warm parts of him that Yuri had come to know.

“I know,” Otabek said. “But it’s important to Yuri.” While listening to his mother on the other end of the line, his eyes cut to Yuri. “Good. I can’t talk much right now.”

Yuri grinned. “Is she asking you about me?”

Otabek gave him a _look_.

“Is she asking how things are going?” Yuri leaned over to grab Otabek’s hand. “Tell her we’re eloping on a train to Moscow.”

“Will you be quiet, please?” Otabek hissed.

But Yuri could see the smile hiding in his eyes, and rather than shoving Yuri’s clutching hand away, he wove their fingers together. Yuri settled back into his seat.

“It all worked out well,” Otabek said into the phone, giving Yuri’s fingers a gentle squeeze. “I’ll call when I get home.”

After disconnecting the call, Otabek pulled his hand away, then poked Yuri’s ribs. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re gorgeous,” Yuri said.

The compliment took Otabek by surprise. His cheeks went ever-so-slightly pink, and he looked away. Yuri decided not to embarrass him any further. At least for now. To change the subject, Yuri let out an exaggerated sigh.

“I have homework. May as well get it over with.”

He bent to retrieve a book from his backpack. The tutor had excused him for the afternoon so that he could leave right after morning practice and spend more time at home, but to make up for missing a lesson, Yuri had to read part of a play and write an essay about the characters over the weekend.

“Hey,” he said, poking Otabek again with his elbow. “Your English must be pretty good, huh?”

Otabek shrugged. Yuri held out his book so that Otabek could read the cover.

“ _Romeo and Juliet_?” Otabek said. “My English isn’t that good. I’m not even sure that’s really English.”

“I don’t have to read the whole thing in English. This version has the original on one side and the Russian translation on the other, and I only have to read the first two acts for now. I was just curious. ‘Cause you know there’s a big difference in their ages, right? And she’s supposed to be thirteen.”

“I read it in school too,” Otabek said. One corner of his mouth kicked up—almost imperceptibly. 

“Why is that funny?” Yuri asked.

“You know what the play’s about, right? Two stupid kids, rushing in headlong, ignoring all common sense—”

“What are you talking about?! This is one of the world’s great romances—”

“Yuri—”

“—and you’re talking about _common sense_?”

Otabek looked at Yuri without answering. He didn’t argue, or even seem upset, which intensified Yuri’s frustration by several degrees.

“I can’t even—” Yuri jumped to his feet. “I never thought that you would be like this.”

“Like what?” Otabek asked.

He was obviously perplexed by Yuri’s reaction, but Yuri couldn’t stomach the idea of Otabek being so detached, dismissing one of the most passionate couples in literary history as _two stupid kids_.

“Are you really this much of a cynic?” Yuri hissed. Then he charged away up the aisle.

It was hard to make a dramatic exit on a train. Yet another thing to hate about public transportation. And forget about tenacious fans—now Yuri needed an escape route to get away from Otabek.

How could he be so cold?

With the dearth of choices, Yuri had to settle for locking himself in the bathroom. He kicked at the door, which rattled but was not otherwise affected. After that unsatisfying result, he shoved back his hood—he felt hot all over—and glared at himself in the cloudy mirror until the tangled mess of his hair started to annoy him. He combed his fingers through to tame the knots.

Once his hair was less wild, he weighed his options. Staying in the bathroom wasn’t very appealing. It was cramped and a little smelly, and every surface was probably covered with germs. And eventually, someone would knock for a turn.

He needed somewhere to really get away.

He needed to go back to his seat and face Otabek. 

Yuri sighed. What he really needed was an escape route from himself. He’d been worried all week that Otabek would come to his senses—to realize that Yuri really was just a stupid kid and take off. And now Yuri had gone and acted like a spoiled brat.

A quiet knock made the flimsy door clatter again in its frame. Yuri ignored it, but a second knock followed.

“Wait your turn,” Yuri snarled.

“Yuri?”

Yuri didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry,” Otabek said through the door. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Yuri fumbled with the lock and yanked the door open.

“You don’t have to apologize.” Yuri had to force the words past the painful lump in his throat. “I was the one who—”

A man in a uniform tapped Otabek’s shoulder, waiting to pass by. Yuri scowled at his shoes so that he wouldn’t glare at the guy.

“Yuri, I don’t—”

The next interruption came in the form of a young woman carrying a squalling infant and a huge shoulder bag.

“Excuse me,” she said, shifting the baby to her other arm. “Can I—?” She gestured at the bathroom.

“Of course,” Otabek said. He wrapped one hand around Yuri’s wrist and gave it a gentle tug. Yuri felt helpless to resist, even after Otabek’s fingers drew away. He followed Otabek back to their row and slouched into his seat.

“I’m sorry,” Yuri said the moment they sat down.

“Yuri, you don’t need to keep—”

“I didn’t mean to yell, and call you cynical, and—” Yuri broke off. He was unsure of what to say but realized cataloging his mistakes wasn’t the best idea. “I’m just sorry.”

Otabek took Yuri’s hand in his. Yuri was so relieved that he blurted out his worst fear.

“Do you wish you hadn’t come?”

“What?” Otabek asked. “Do you mean on the train? Or do I wish I hadn’t come to see you?”

“Both! I messed everything up.”

“No, Yuri—” Otabek squeezed Yuri’s fingers tightly. “A silly argument like that doesn’t mean anything.”

“But it was my fault.”

Otabek shrugged, like he agreed about where to place the blame but didn’t want to rub it in. “But does it matter? It wasn’t important.”

Yuri felt like there should be more to say—explanations and apologies—but after one last squeeze of Yuri’s hand, Otabek pulled _Romeo and Juliet_ from under his thigh, handed it to Yuri, dug in his own backpack for a book, and started reading.

*****

Almost three hours later, Yuri still hadn’t gotten much reading done. His eyes continually wandered away from his book, drawn to Otabek’s handsome profile.

Yuri wanted to kiss him, but he had a feeling Otabek wouldn’t like it. And maybe it would be stupid. No one had approached or seemed to recognize either of them, but Yuri couldn’t count how many times fans had posted shots of him on social media when he hadn’t had any idea that he was getting his picture taken.

Plus, Yuri knew some of the urge for a kiss came from neediness, and he hated that. It was just hard to accept that his childish behavior was truly forgiven and forgotten. Otabek still had concerns about the difference in their ages, and throwing a temper tantrum over something so pointless wasn’t exactly the best way to convince him that Yuri was mature enough to handle a serious relationship.

Mostly things were great between them. Mornings—never Yuri’s favorite time of day—had become almost pleasant. Every day during the visit, he’d woken up to Otabek bringing him coffee in bed, and Otabek slipped back under the covers to sit side by side as they sipped from their steaming cups. After Yuri’s intense morning practice, he would meet Otabek for lunch before a couple of hours of lessons with his tutors. In the afternoons, when the practice rinks were less crowded, Otabek snuck onto the ice to work a little himself. It wasn’t technically allowed, but even Yakov turned a blind eye.

So it wasn’t like they were in hiding. Everyone saw Otabek there, and if Mila and Victor’s teasing was any indication, Yuri wasn’t doing a very good job at disguising how besotted with Otabek he felt. But even the teasing was comforting—Yuri growled and pretended to be annoyed, but he loved knowing that everyone could see the bond between him and Otabek. Yuri knew better than to look for smiles from Otabek, but still, Yuri could tell Otabek didn’t have any qualms about being recognized as a couple, at least by friends.

The nights were even better than daytime. Otabek had quickly grown comfortable with Mila, and the three of them talked over dinner. Then Otabek came home with Yuri. Sometimes they watched a movie, or Yuri did his homework while Otabek read a book. Most importantly, Otabek shared his bed. Yuri loved it. Loved feeling warm and safe, with Otabek’s body close behind him.

Otabek was particularly sweet when he was sleepy, pressing close and rubbing his face on Yuri’s shoulders and neck. It reminded Yuri of Potya when she was looking for attention. The action was both possessive and affectionate, so Yuri felt both claimed and loved—a feeling he was quickly becoming addicted to.

In public, however, it was different. Otabek would touch Yuri—small affectionate gestures—but no big displays. They’d talked about it. Otabek was concerned about their public images and sponsors not liking them being too overt. The entire conversation had been ridiculous. Who cared what those people thought? Otabek had been the first one to say that it wasn’t anyone else’s business, but then he decided they should be cautious. Yuri was trying to respect Otabek’s wishes.

And really, Yuri had no complaints. When they were alone, things were good. Wonderful, really. Otabek was good for Yuri and good _to_ him. Otabek treated Yuri with more affection and considerate thoughtfulness than anyone other than Grandpa. It was way more than Yuri could ever have expected.

If there was one thing Yuri would change, it would be that Otabek was too damn cautious. So careful. Was he always thinking?

The night before, Yuri had hoped they had bypassed Otabek’s concerns for once. They’d been on the couch in Yuri’s tiny apartment, pressed close and trading lingering kisses—endless kisses—until every nerve in Yuri’s body was jangling with restrained energy, desperately hungry to explore Otabek’s body.

Otabek had liked it too—Yuri didn’t doubt that. His breath had been loud in Yuri’s ear, his fingers tangled in Yuri’s hair. Yet he had drawn away, reminding Yuri of their resolution—no, _Otabek’s_ resolution—to progress slowly. When they went to bed, he had cuddled Yuri close again, but only to close his eyes and sleep. 

When Yuri was honest with himself, he admitted he’d been hurt. He could talk endlessly about being responsible, moving slowly to let a strong relationship build, but in the heat of the moment, it was maddening to see Otabek so easily back away. Yuri couldn’t help but wish that he was just as desperate.

How amazing if Otabek would throw all caution to the wind—along with reason, maturity, responsibility—and just give in to desire. Yuri longed to be wanted that much. But maybe Otabek didn’t feel as strongly as Yuri did. He seemed so distant when he pulled away like that.

Oh. 

_Oh_.

That’s why Yuri had gotten angry with Otabek’s ideas about _Romeo and Juliet_. Because it made him seem detached and cold, like the kind of person who could disengage from the best kiss of Yuri’s life—the best kiss _ever_ —and calmly say, _We should slow down_ , like it didn’t frustrate him at all to pull away.

It made Yuri feel stupid that he hadn’t understood at first that _this_ was what had made him so angry. He should have guessed that a stupid play wouldn’t upset him so much.

Otabek truly seemed to have forgotten all about it. But the whole episode made Yuri feel stupid and insecure. And impatient. If Otabek would just let everything happen naturally without being so damn careful, he’d see that Yuri could handle it.

But could he handle it?

He hated to acknowledge it even in the quiet of his own mind, but there was a part of him that got a little nervous when he thought about the particulars of the physical side of their relationship. He didn’t want to rush in when he had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t want Otabek to see him as an inexperienced kid, even if that’s what he was.

So maybe it wasn’t such a terrible thing to have to wait.

*****

The wind blew icy knives at Yuri’s cheeks the moment they stepped out of the station, but he could see Grandpa parked in the chain of waiting cars.

“Yuri, careful!” Otabek called. “There’s ice.”

But Yuri was already running. Grandpa emerged from the driver’s seat and held out his arms. Yuri charged straight to him, remembering at the last second not to jump, mindful of Grandpa’s bad back.

Grandpa hugged Yuri tightly, one hand cradling the back of his head. Yuri closed his eyes and breathed in the smoky, snowy scent of Grandpa’s overcoat.

Suddenly, Yuri remembered to worry about introducing Otabek. Probably because he’d been preoccupied with his stupid outburst earlier, he hadn’t thought much about what he’d say once they arrived. When he’d called Grandpa a couple days ago to tell him the train schedule, Yuri’d said only that he was bringing a friend along, and Grandpa had accepted the news without question.

Yuri would rather get everything out in the open, but was it too soon to be introducing Otabek as his boyfriend? They hadn’t talked about it. Yuri had no idea what Otabek was thinking. He might not want to put a label on something so new—not to mention the fact that right now it had to be long distance. He might not even be thinking of their relationship as something official. Or Otabek might want to date other people. Yuri’s stomach tightened at the thought.

By the time all of this flashed through Yuri’s mind in a sickening jumble, Otabek had already introduced himself and was shaking Grandpa’s hand. He handled the situation with understated poise, respectfully but firmly refusing to let Grandpa take their bags. Instead, he put them in the trunk himself and insisted on sitting in back so that Yuri and Grandpa could talk.

All that was left for Yuri to do was feel relieved.

He buckled his seatbelt and answered Grandpa’s questions. Luckily, they were the usual stuff about practice and his schoolwork—nothing that required much thought. His mind was in the ridiculously cramped back seat with Otabek. Yuri was slowly learning to interpret Otabek’s expressions and was dying to see his face.

The city was covered in dirty slush, quickly refreezing as the sun went down. The path in front of Grandpa’s house was in the shade, so it was treacherous. Grandpa, with his galoshes, opted to walk in the snow next to the slick pavement, while Yuri and Otabek slid more than walked up to the door.

After Otabek set his bag down inside and took off his coat, he looked around. Yuri tried to see the familiar room through his eyes: the worn but comfortable sofa and Grandpa’s favorite chair. The wood paneling made it cozy, and Grandpa had obviously tidied up the usual storm of papers on his desk in the corner once Yuri told him he’d be bringing a guest.

Otabek crossed the room to stand by the hearth. Though the fireplace itself hadn’t ever been functional in Yuri’s memory, the mantel had become a timeline of his childhood. One photo showed Yuri receiving his first trophy in a city-wide skating competition when he was eight. Some were embarrassing, such as the one portraying a naked two-year-old Yuri, sullen and defiant, standing beside the bathtub but refusing to get in.

Otabek picked up a picture taken on Uncle Evgeny’s farm, where a goat had developed an unusual fondness for Yuri and followed him around the entire day attempting to eat his shirt. The photo showed a laughing but dismayed Grandpa lifting the scowling five-year-old Yuri. The goat’s teeth were latched on to Yuri’s sleeve with such determination that its front feet were a foot off the ground.

As Otabek replaced the frame on the mantel, he glanced at Yuri. It was obvious from Otabek’s expression that if he weren’t working so hard to make a good impression on Grandpa, he would be teasing Yuri mercilessly.

“I will have dinner ready soon,” Grandpa said. You must be hungry after the long train ride.”

“Thank you very much,” Otabek said.

He was being extra polite. It was very sweet. Yuri wanted to tease him but also wanted to hug him. With Grandpa still in the room, Yuri felt like he couldn’t do either.

“We’re having those piroshki you suggested, Yuri—the katsudon.”

“Katsudon?” Otabek turned to Yuri. “Isn’t that what you called Katsuki? What does it mean?”

Yuri succeeded in changing the subject by offering to help set the table for dinner.

Throughout the meal, Yuri’s nervousness made him babble. He wasn’t worried about Grandpa, who would patiently—and probably happily, after Yuri had been away from home so long—listen to his nonsense for hours, but Yuri couldn’t resist glancing at Otabek to gauge his reactions. He didn’t look unhappy, at least. He complimented the piroshki, and when Grandpa set a bowl of canned sliced peaches in front of him, he picked up his spoon and dug in.

Yuri wasn’t sure why he’d half-expected Otabek to decline the simple dessert. He wasn’t the type to turn his nose up at anything, but in all the meals they had eaten together in the past few days, they had never had dessert, and he drank his coffee black, so maybe he didn’t have much of a sweet tooth.

After they’d all finished eating, Otabek insisted on clearing the table, though Grandpa refused to let him help wash dishes.

“Take Otabek to his room, and maybe once you boys are settled, we can play a few rounds of cards?”

Yuri stopped himself from rolling his eyes while Otabek politely agreed to a game. This was Grandpa’s secret weapon: he dealt the cards, then got you talking without you even realizing you were doing it. Yuri had figured out the trick years ago, but even in his most sullen moods, he still fell for it, getting wrapped up in the game and answering Grandpa’s questions while distracted.

Yuri led Otabek to the tiny bedroom behind the fireplace. Yuri thought of it as his father’s room, because he slept there during his infrequent visits. It was so small there was barely room to walk between the narrow bed and the bookshelf on the opposite wall.

“Thanks.” Otabek set his backpack on the foot of the bed. “This is nice.”

Yuri shrugged. “It’s really not.”

Otabek paused in the middle of unzipping his bag and squinted at Yuri. “You’re embarrassed? About the house?”

“No,” Yuri answered right away.

He wasn’t exactly lying.

But he’d read just about everything there was to be found online about Otabek in the weeks since the Grand Prix Final and seen pictures on his social media. Growing up, Otabek’s life had been on a different scale than Yuri’s. It was obvious in little details that Otabek probably took for granted, like the supple leather of his jacket, his late-model phone, and even the upmarket shampoo he used.

Otabek stared at Yuri long enough to make him uncomfortable. Then his face softened—not quite a smile, but a uniquely _Otabek_ expression that Yuri had learned to interpret as fond amusement at something stupid Yuri said or did.

“I don’t care about that stuff.”

“I know you’re not a snob,” Yuri said. “But I just never noticed how it is here. Grandpa’s so old-fashioned, the house is so plain, and dessert tasted like the can it came in.”

“Old-fashioned is okay.” Otabek turned away to grab his charger from his bag. “And I like peaches.”

“You do?”

Otabek nodded as he plugged in his phone.

“You really like peaches?”

Otabek looked up with a puzzled frown on his face.

“Would you say it’s your favorite fruit?” Yuri asked.

“I don’t know,” Otabek answered. “Maybe. Why?”

Yuri pounced, wrapping his arms around Otabek’s neck. 

“That’ll be my pet name for you,” Yuri murmured. “I can call you my peach.”

Otabek let out a snort as he slid one hand around Yuri’s waist. After setting his phone down on the shelf over the bed, he put that arm around Yuri too.

“It might be worth the indignity,” Otabek said. “Just to hear you calling me that over and over.”

Yuri pressed close. “Maybe I could call you Beka instead?”

Otabek bent his head for a kiss, and something relaxed in Yuri’s belly—a tension he hadn’t quite realized had been there ever since he’d snapped at Otabek and stormed away.

Otabek’s arms tightened around, pulling Yuri even more tightly against him. His tongue coaxed Yuri’s lips open, then licked inside—teasing and slow. By the time they came up for air, Yuri’s nerves were zinging to life all over his body.

“ _Beka_.”

Otabek ducked his head, pressing his face against Yuri’s neck.

Yuri took a deep breath and tried to laugh. “You have terrible timing. We can’t really do anything. I mean, not _here_.”

“I know.” Otabek said—maddeningly agreeable. “I guess we play cards instead?”

*****

On Saturday morning, Yuri pulled on a thick pair of socks and a sweatshirt before venturing out of his bedroom. Back in his old familiar bed, he’d slept better than he had in months, and he’d been blissfully warm under the pile of quilts. Only his rumbling stomach and the smell of bread baking—not Grandpa, and not even Otabek—had enticed him out of his cocoon.

Grandpa wasn’t in his usual place at the kitchen table. Yuri went to the window and saw him trying to clear the still-icy front path.

“Ah, you’re up,” said Otabek behind him.

Before Yuri could turn to say good morning, Otabek approached and wrapped his arms around Yuri’s waist.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Otabek murmured into Yuri’s hair, then kissed him on the side of his head.

“You’re kind of a sap, aren’t you?” Yuri leaned into Otabek’s warmth. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Oh, uh—”

Surprised by Otabek’s hesitation, Yuri turned to face him. He’d already dressed. His hair was still damp from his shower, and for some reason, Yuri wanted to touch it. There was nothing stopping him, really, so he reached out and carded his fingers from Otabek’s forehead, over the top of his head, and down the back, until his hand settled at the nape.

Otabek’s eyes closed, and the corners of his lips curved up, just a few degrees. A big smile, for Otabek—it felt like victory.

Until Otabek’s eyes sprang open. “Wait, can you help me?”

“Help you?”

Otabek nodded. “Your grandpa asked me to keep an eye on the oven.”

“I told you, I don’t know anything about cooking.”

“At least take a look,” Otabek said as he pulled away and crossed to the oven.

He opened the door, and Yuri went to peek inside.

“It looks okay to me,” Yuri said. “What’s it supposed to look like?”

“I don’t know. But it seems like a big deal to your grandpa. He made it especially for you, so I don’t want to mess it up.”

Otabek’s expression was so earnest, gazing at the dough in the pan. He really wanted to make a good impression.

“I don’t think it’s done yet,” Yuri said. “Grandpa’s bread is usually brown on top.”

“Brown?” Otabek frowned.

“Not _burnt_ ,” Yuri said. “Just light brown. Golden. Close the oven or it won’t cook at all.”

Otabek slammed the oven shut so quickly all the pots and pans on the rack above it rattled.

“Careful,” Yuri said. “Don’t loud noises make stuff collapse?”

“Isn’t that cakes?” Otabek asked.

“I thought you knew how to cook.”

Otabek held up both hands, clearly exasperated. “I don’t bake.”

“Let’s just ask him.”

“No, wait,” Otabek said. “Let me take another look.”

As he opened the oven again, an idea occurred to Yuri. 

“Hey, were you being sweet when you said you were glad to see me? Or did you just want help with the bread?”

Otabek gave Yuri a sideways glance. “Both?”

Yuri snorted. He had never seen Otabek look anything less than self-assured. His sheepish grimace was adorable.

“All right,” Yuri said, nudging Otabek away from the oven. “Let me see.”

The loaf was starting to brown at the very top, but most of it still looked pale and sticky.

“It definitely needs more time,” Yuri said. “Did you eat already?”

Otabek nodded.

“I’d wait for the bread, but I’m starving. And I think there are leftover piroshki.”

Yuri found three piroshki in Grandpa’s tiny refrigerator, wrapped in a clean towel.

“You want one?” Yuri asked

“I’ll pass,” Otabek answered. “But thanks. Don’t you want to heat it up?”

“It’s good this way,” Yuri said around his very full mouth.

Otabek gave Yuri a skeptical look before bending down to try to peer through the window in the oven door.

“You don’t have to worry about my grandfather,” Yuri said. “He likes you.”

“I don’t know about that. He seems a little brusque.” 

“He’s like that all the time. He likes you. Trust me.”

“I do,” Otabek said. “But maybe he would rather spend time alone with you, without me tagging along.”

Yuri shrugged and reached for another piroshok.

Otabek made a face. “Wouldn’t it taste better warm? I don’t know how you can eat that.”

“Maybe I just need something else to do with my mouth,” Yuri said, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

“Do you mean that as a double entendre?” Otabek asked. “Because it’s hard to take you seriously when you have rice stuck to your chin.”

Yuri grabbed a dishcloth from the counter. As he was swiping at the offending grains of rice, Otabek slid his arms around him, hugging him from behind.

“I like you even with food on your face.”

Otabek whispered it into Yuri’s ear as if it were a romantic declaration, but he followed it up with a poke in the ticklish spot under Yuri’s ribs.

“Hey, quit it!”

Then Otabek laughed, muffling it by squashing his face against Yuri’s neck, which kind of tickled too. But Yuri didn’t mind, because Otabek was _laughing_. His arms pulled Yuri against him more snugly, until their bodies were pressed together, Yuri’s back tight against Otabek’s chest.

Otabek’s breathing was loud. He turned his head, his mouth sliding down Yuri’s neck. Not a kiss, really—just the glide of his lips over the sensitive skin under Yuri’s ear. It didn’t tickle anymore.

“ _Yuri_ ,” Otabek said, just as the kitchen door creaked open.

Grandpa stepped inside and stopped short, centered perfectly in the door frame like a painting.

Yuri froze. His ass was still nestled against Otabek’s thighs.

Otabek took a stumbling step backward to put some space between them, but his hands stayed on Yuri’s hips. Yuri was grateful that Otabek didn’t abandon him.

Grandpa stared for what seemed like forever. Then he walked through the kitchen—tracking slush from his wet galoshes—and disappeared down the hall. His footsteps were heavy on the stairs.

Yuri stood stock-still in the kitchen. Otabek circled him, leaning down to peer at him, eye to eye. 

“Are you okay?”

Yuri nodded.

Otabek tugged Yuri close for a hug and asked, “Are you going to talk to him?”

“I guess so.”

“He didn’t look angry,” Otabek said.

“No, I guess he didn’t.”

Otabek kissed Yuri’s temple. Then Yuri turned and marched upstairs to Grandpa’s room before he lost his nerve.

The door was almost closed, so Yuri rapped on it gently with his knuckles.

“Grandpa?”

“Come in, Yuratchka.” Grandpa was sitting on the edge of the bed. He patted the quilt beside him. “Come in and sit with me.”

Yuri sat next to Grandpa and waited. Probably only a minute or two passed—Yuri knew he didn’t have much patience—but it seemed like forever, with Grandpa’s prehistoric alarm clock ticking in the quiet.

Finally, Yuri couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“But—”

“No, I knew. I’ve known for a long time, but especially last summer, when you visited me. Little Nadia from down the street was following you everywhere you went. Such a pretty young lady. If you were at all interested in girls you would have at least noticed her.”

“I noticed her.”

She had popped up every time Yuri stuck his nose outside the house: _Yuri! Can I come see you skate?! Yuri, teach me too!_

“How could I not notice?” Yuri asked. “She was annoying.”

Grandpa chuckled. “Yuratchka, you’re only proving my point.” His gentle hand clamped onto Yuri’s shoulder and gave him a playful shake. “It’s not so hard to understand, even for an old man like me. The world is a different place now. But I’m grateful for that.” Grandpa scrubbed at his face with one hand. After a sigh, he smiled at Yuri. “Is he good to you?”

Yuri nodded, but then hesitated. “So far.”

“So far?”

“We only just figured everything out a few days ago.”

Grandpa looked thoughtful. “But the papers—I saw a picture of you two together in Barcelona.”

Yuri’s cheeks grew warm. It looked incriminating, he knew, but the more he tried to steady his breathing, the more flustered he felt.

“Yes, but—we were friends then, but we weren’t together like _that_.”

“I see.”

Grandpa waited for more explanation.

“I was—I messed things up with him, in Barcelona.” Yuri’s face was on fire now. “But I think they’re fixed now.”

Grandpa gave Yuri a sad smile. “So much like your parents.”

Yuri’s embarrassment turned to irritation. He was _nothing_ like them.

“ _Grandpa_ —”

“Ah, my Yuri,” he gently jostled Yuri’s shoulder again. “Don’t be angry. Your parents have their faults. But your father is a good man—just reckless. Your mother is beautiful and brilliant and talented. You have their passion. This is what I mean when I say you’re like them.”

This explanation mollified Yuri somewhat, but the comparison still didn’t sit quite right with him.

“Your grandmother too.”

“My grandmother?” Yuri asked

Grandpa continued as if he hadn’t heard. “She was impulsive too, and she couldn’t bear to teach your father to be any different. And your mother—” Grandpa cut himself off and sighed. “Well, she was much the same. That was the problem. There was too much love between them.”

“Too much love?”

Yuri didn’t think that was possible. Wasn’t a lot of love a good thing? And the few times he’d seen his parents in the same room, there’d been no evidence of anything like love.

“Too much passion. Too many sparks. They burned each other over and over.” Grandpa waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen. A smile teased at the corner of his mouth under his whiskers. “But your Kazakh hero—he’s steady. I think your sparks won’t do him any harm.”

“You make him sound dull,” Yuri mumbled, though inside, he was praying that his grandfather was right.

Grandpa tilted his head thoughtfully. “If he is, then I am too. Dull, but steady. How else do you think I lived with your grandmother for so long?” He cupped Yuri’s chin in his palm. “She would be so proud of you.”

He let his hand drop and smiled.

“You say that your young man treats you well. And I see that he’s a very handsome boy.”

Yuri’s cheeks grew hot. Feeling embarrassed made him want to argue.

“He’s not a boy. He’s nineteen.”

Grandpa smiled. “He seems like a boy to me.”

“Tell _him_ that,” Yuri grumbled. “He’s worried about the age difference.”

“It doesn’t seem like a very big difference. Your grandmother was six years younger.”

“Seriously, will you tell Otabek? He thinks I’m too young. He keeps telling me to slow down, that we have all the time in the world. If he knows you’re not worried about him being older, maybe he won’t be so paranoid about everything.”

“No, no. To me, it seems your Otabek is kind, handsome, and also wise.”

Yuri groaned, letting himself fall backward onto the mattress, his arms sprawling to either side. He didn’t want Grandpa telling him to be patient—he could see that advice coming a mile away. But he did like the way Grandpa had said _your Otabek_.

“Come now, Yuratchka, you are young. No need to rush through life.”

“I know,” Yuri said. “I _know_.”

Grandpa chuckled. “So, he is kind, handsome, and wise. Is he also as talented as you?”

“You mean skating? He’s amazing. He came in fourth in the Grand Prix finals, but got silver and gold in his preliminaries, and bronze at last year’s Worlds.”

Maybe it was hypocritical to brag about things Otabek had accomplished before they’d ever spoken, but Yuri was proud of him.

Grandpa nodded approvingly. “He trains in St. Petersburg too?”

“No, his home rink is in Kazakhstan.”

“But he came on the train with you.”

“He came to visit. He flew up a few days ago. We hadn’t talked since Barcelona, and he wanted to talk face to face.”

“So that you could settle things between you?” Grandpa asked, his eyebrows rising.

“Yeah.”

“Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

“He tells you not to rush, but first he flies to see you when you hadn’t talked in weeks. Then you only just settled things and he’s ready to come home with you to meet me? And to travel again when he just flew all that way? Maybe he’s a bit impulsive too.”

Yuri hadn’t thought of it like that before. It made him feel better, knowing Otabek liked him enough to be a little stupid.

Grandpa patted Yuri’s leg, then hauled himself to his feet.

“Let’s go down to your dull hero, then. He must be worrying about you.”

When they went downstairs, the kitchen was empty. The loaf of bread sat in the middle of the table, the top a perfect golden brown. Otabek must have figured out the timing. Yuri called his name, but there was no answer.

A metallic scraping sounded outside the kitchen door. Yuri went to the window to investigate, and there was Otabek, antique aluminum snow shovel in hand, chipping away at the front path right where Grandpa had left off.

Grandpa came to Yuri’s side, peered over his shoulder, and let out an approving hum. “He’s a good man.”

*****

Yuri spent the rest of the morning with his schoolwork while Otabek helped Grandpa outside. The more he read, the more frustrated he got.

Otabek was right. Romeo and Juliet were idiots.

Not that their families were wonderful specimens of humanity, what with their fighting and Juliet’s parents forcing her into marriage with a guy she didn’t love, but it seemed like the romance of the situation all came from them being star-crossed. Like they were rebelling against the stupid family feud by insisting on being together. If Romeo’s dad had tossed him the keys to the car and Juliet’s dad had waved them off with a _Don’t keep her out too late_ , would they have been so into each other?

And it wasn’t like nobody warned them. When Romeo talked about marrying Juliet, the friar warned him to slow down. “Wisely and slow,” the friar told Romeo, “they stumble that run fast.” It was bad enough coming from a clergyman. It was his job to advise people, right? It was even worse when the warning came from your boyfriend. If Yuri was even allowed to call Otabek his boyfriend.

The play annoyed Yuri in itself, just for being so stupid. On top of that was the embarrassment of his behavior on the train. It would be bad enough if he’d been right about _Romeo and Juliet_ , but getting so bent out of shape only to find out he had it all wrong? That was humiliating. Not only was he a hothead, he was an _ignorant_ hothead.

At least it made the essay simple to do. He just wrote about all the reasons these two dumb teenagers shouldn’t be held up as the epitome of romance. It was mostly venting, but he used lots of textual support, so his tutor would give him a decent grade. Once he had his full three pages, he scribbled a quick summary and stuffed all of his books to the bottom of his bag, determined not to think about it again.

All through lunch, however, it bothered him. He didn’t mean to sulk, but it was all he could do to choke down a few spoonfuls of soup. He couldn’t resist Grandpa’s fresh homemade bread, though, so at least he didn’t go hungry.

With Yuri so quiet, Grandpa turned his attention to Otabek, asking a whole bunch of questions. Otabek answered each one politely, pushing himself to talk more than usual.

It made Yuri hate himself even more, because how much of a brainless jerk did he have to be? What kind of idiot treated a perfect guy like Otabek with impatience and juvenile blustering? And who made things worse by clamming up, forcing that perfect guy to carry the conversation all on his own? Only Yuri would be so stupid.

After lunch, they walked to the grocery store to buy ingredients for Grandpa’s birthday dinner. Yuri still couldn’t shake off his mood, so he tried not to talk much, determined not to snap at Otabek again.

Otabek didn’t seem bothered by Yuri’s silence, though every once in a while Yuri could feel his gaze, like he was trying to figure out what was wrong. The quiet finally got to Yuri though, so when they exited the grocery store, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“That’s where I learned to skate.”

Otabek looked at him in surprise, then his gaze followed Yuri’s pointing finger to the low, flat roof of the rink where he’d had his first lessons.

When Otabek turned back, he gave Yuri one of his almost-smiles. “Let’s go see it.”

“Shouldn’t we get the groceries home?”

Otabek tilted his head slightly. “Nothing’s going to spoil in this cold.”

“I guess.”

Yuri still didn’t want to go. Though the real reason embarrassed him, he figured the truth was best.

“They’ll make a fuss,” Yuri said. “I’ve been back a few times when I’ve come to see Grandpa—just hoping to stay in shape. But I can’t practice. The teachers want to show me off to the parents, so they can charge more for lessons. The kids think I’m a freak, or expect me to teach them my secrets—like there’s some magic potion. They don’t want to work hard.”

Otabek’s expression had softened. He didn’t look sad, exactly. Yuri didn’t want to believe that Otabek might feel sorry for him. He put his hand on Yuri’s lower back as they turned away and started walking toward home. That simple gesture loosened the unpleasant tangle that had been in Yuri’s belly ever since reading the stupid play that morning—loosened it enough that he could talk about it.

“You were right about _Romeo and Juliet_.”

Otabek paused on the sidewalk. “What?”

Yuri stopped too.

“The stupid play. You were right! Everyone talks about it like it’s this really romantic story, but you’re totally right. They’re just dumb kids. Romeo starts off talking about a whole different girl. Then he sees Juliet and just latches on to her cause he thinks she’s hot. I figured if they’re one of the greatest romances of all time, they’d at least _know each other_. It’s— _ugh_ , it’s so _stupid_.”

Otabek took a step closer and brushed his fingers over the back of Yuri’s hand. Rather than feel comforted, it made Yuri even more frustrated. He wanted to move—to outrun his irritation and embarrassment—but he didn’t want to do anything to push Beka away, so he turned his hand and wove their fingers together, gripping tightly. He was relieved when Otabek didn’t object or pull away.

“And everyone knows how it ends,” Yuri continued. “How is that romantic? I thought there’d be more to it. But it’s just stupid and pointless, and I don’t get why everyone thinks this play is so great.”

“I see what you mean,” Otabek said. “But I don’t think _Romeo and Juliet_ is stupid.”

“But you called them stupid kids!”

Otabek nodded. “They did stupid things, but the play isn’t pointless. They were in love. We can forgive people who do stupid things when they’re in love.”

“I don’t know about that,” Yuri grumbled. “Stupid is stupid. Who cares if you’re in love? It’s still stupid.” He still wanted to run away, but he forced himself to look Otabek in the eye. “I shouldn’t have gotten pissed at you. So I’m sorry.”

Otabek squeezed his hand. “Yuri.”

“What?”

“Thank you for saying that,” Otabek said. “But I’d forgotten all about it. It really wasn’t a big deal.”

He set down the shopping bags he was carrying. Once his hand was free, he reached out to touch Yuri’s face, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw. Yuri realized he was biting his lip and quickly released it, which made Otabek smile, at least with his eyes.

“Yuri.”

His hand cupped Yuri’s cheek, and for a minute Yuri thought he was about to be kissed right there on the street.

“You drive me crazy, in the best way I can imagine,” Otabek said. “You don’t have to worry so much.”

“But—” Yuri wanted to argue, but he stopped himself. If Otabek was ready to forget it, Yuri should stop bringing it up.

“You know,” Otabek said as he pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket. “When I started this I had a pretty good idea of who you are.”

Yuri probably should have felt insulted. Instead, he looked at warmth in Otabek’s eyes, and happiness washed over him.

“I like that you feel strongly about things.” Otabek slipped the glasses on and bent to retrieve his bags. He paused, dipping his chin to peer over his sunglasses at Yuri. “And you’re never boring.”

Yuri squinted at him in mock outrage. “ _Beka_.”

Otabek bumped Yuri’s shoulder with his own.

“Let’s go home.”

*****

“Ah, boys, that was wonderful. Thank you.”

Grandpa folded his napkin, set it beside his scraped-clean plate, and pushed his chair away from the table.

“Sorry we started so late,” Yuri said. “I’m not very good at this.”

Otabek had done most of the work making the enchiladas, of course. Yuri worried that his “help” had only slowed things down, but Otabek kindly let Yuri take the credit.

“Don’t you apologize,” Grandpa said. “It was just fine.”

He reached into the sagging pocket of his favorite cardigan and pulled out a small box. It was flat and square and wrapped in blue-striped paper.

“Who sent you a present, Grandpa? Don’t they know you don’t want more stuff?”

“It isn’t for me, Yuri. It’s for you.”

Otabek looked surprised. “It’s your birthday?”

“No,” Yuri said. “Not yet. In a couple weeks.”

Grandpa slid the gift across the table toward Yuri.

“I know it’s early,” Grandpa said. “But I don’t want to send this in the mail. I want to be with you when you open it.”

Yuri picked up the box, wanting to erase Beka’s unhappy frown with an explanation—he really didn’t like not knowing about Yuri’s birthday—but afraid Grandpa might be hurt if he didn’t give the present the attention it deserved. After a quick apologetic smile for Otabek, Yuri tore off the wrapping paper and plucked the lid off the box.

Inside was a silver pocket watch. Yuri stared at it. He wanted to be pleased by Grandpa’s present, but what on earth would he do with a watch like this? 

He forced a smile.

“Thank you, Grandpa. Is this yours?”

Grandpa nodded.

“Let me explain. I know you are wondering why I would give you an old man’s watch when all of your devices have a clock built into them.”

Yuri opened his mouth to argue, but Grandpa raised one hand.

“Wait, this will make sense, if you’re patient.”

He reached out and took Yuri’s hand, wrapping his fingers around the watch.

“This is a reminder, Yuratchka. To make sure you remember how quickly time passes. There are times when you must put down your phone and live in the analog world. Do you see?”

“I think so,” Yuri said, with a quick glance at Otabek, who was listening to their conversation with great interest.

“When you skate, you’re happy, aren’t you?” Grandpa asked.

That wasn’t completely true. Yuri was often frustrated, angry, or exhausted.

“Okay,” Grandpa said. “Maybe happy is not the word. Focused? Is that better? Focused in a way you can’t be when distracted by your phone. So put your phone aside. When you are skating, studying, cooking, spending time with your Otabek—”

Otabek nudged Yuri’s knee under the table, and when Yuri looked his way, he smiled.

“—forget your phone,” Grandpa continued. “No social media nonsense. Real life is more important.”

Yuri nodded. The watch felt surprisingly good nestled in his palm, the silver warmed by his skin. He tucked his hand into his pocket, still holding it.

Then Grandpa looked at Otabek. “I also have something for you.”

“For me?”

“I want to show you my most treasured possessions,” Grandpa said. “But I need a few minutes to prepare.”

Otabek looked puzzled, but Yuri was pretty sure what Grandpa had in mind. The idea made Yuri want to argue, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t do any good.

“We’ll take care of this mess while you get set up,” Yuri said.

The look of pleased surprise on Otabek’s face was worth scrubbing all those plates gunked up with cheese and sauce. And really, it wasn’t so bad with Beka beside him at the sink.

When Yuri finished washing, he left Otabek drying the last few and went to check on Grandpa. Yuri had guessed correctly: while he and Otabek had been cleaning up the dinner dishes, Grandpa had gotten out his ancient video camera.

Yuri groaned. “Couldn’t we play cards instead?”

Grandpa leaned over his even more ancient television, hooking up the camera. “Don’t you think your Otabek wants to see?”

It was like Grandpa knew how much Yuri liked hearing the words _your Otabek_.

Beka emerged from the kitchen, one eyebrow raised in a question.

“Grandpa wants to make you watch videos,” Yuri said, grabbing his shoulders and adopting an exaggerated panicked tone. “Run while you can.”

“Ah, here we are,” Grandpa said as the wire connections registered.

Yuri recognized the music he skated to in his very first competition. Far from trying to escape, Otabek planted himself on the couch and was immediately fixated by the video. Grandpa sat in his chair, paying almost as much attention to Otabek’s reactions almost as to the TV.

Beka didn’t disappoint. He was smiling.

It was the biggest smile Yuri had seen him wear. Ever.

Yuri sighed, but it was mostly for show. Beka’s obvious pleasure resigned him to any embarrassment he might feel, and it had been a very long time since he’d seen any of Grandpa’s recordings. He sighed again, and when no one paid any attention to his token protest, he gave up and settled on the sofa next to Otabek to watch.

Yuri had to admit that as a kid, he’d been pretty cute. In this first video, his hair was so blond it was almost white, and he still had some baby fat, so his cheeks were rounded and tinged pink with exertion and nerves.

What surprised Yuri most was how often he smiled. Grandpa had captured the moment when Yuri first landed a double. He looked immediately at the camera, his face glowing with a fierce happiness.

In that child on the screen, there was no hint of the restless, angry energy that plagued Yuri now.

At first, Yuri assumed that he was reacting to Grandpa’s presence, but after watching carefully, he was certain he hadn’t been just posing for the camera. Even when it was clear that eight-year-old Yuri wasn’t aware that he was being filmed, he smiled after mastering a new skill and looked pleased with himself every time the teacher praised him.

Yuri didn’t feel joy like that anymore. Not even when he skated. When had that changed?

Otabek reached for his hand and squeezed, and that helped push back the unsettled feeling in Yuri’s belly. Beka glanced at Yuri out of the corner of his eye. His lingering smile made Yuri suddenly desperate to kiss him, but it felt weird enough just holding hands with Grandpa in the room.

Halfway through the second tape, Yuri entered Juniors, and the video quality plummeted. Grandpa hadn’t traveled to all of Yuri’s competitions, so he must have recorded them by setting the camera across from the TV screen. The older Yuri got, and the more he looked like himself, the less interested all of them became, until even Grandpa had had enough.

“It’s past my bedtime.” After a huge yawn, he dragged himself out of his chair. “Good night, boys.”

Otabek let go of Yuri’s hand and jumped out of his seat, standing up straight as an arrow. Yuri half-expected him to salute.

“Happy birthday, sir. Thank you for showing me the videos.”

“Of course,” Grandpa said, patting Otabek’s shoulder. “Good night, Yuratchka.”

“Night, Grandpa. Happy birthday.”

Otabek didn’t sit down again until Grandpa was halfway up the stairs. He slumped deep into the cushions and nudged Yuri’s leg with his knee. “You were adorable.”

Yuri scowled at him.

Beka let out a small huff of laughter. “You _are_ adorable.” He sat up to press a quick kiss to the side of Yuri’s head, then flopped back into his slouch.

Yuri shoved Otabek’s arm out of the way and snuggled up beside him.

“Hey,” Otabek said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“About your birthday. I need some warning for these things.”

“You don’t have to get me a present, Beka.”

“I want to.”

“I don’t need things either. I just want to see you, and you’re here now.”

“But I didn’t visit for your birthday,” Otabek said. “I visited to fix the mess I made.”

“What are you talking about? I’m the one who messed everything up.”

Otabek made a face but didn’t argue.

“If I could stay longer, I would,” he said. “Until your birthday. But my coach is already unhappy with me.”

“It’s okay, Beka.” Now that Yuri knew Otabek didn’t mind the nickname, he found himself using it every chance he got. “I get it. We’ll find a time for another visit soon.”

Otabek tilted his head. “What the hell is that noise?”

Yuri listened carefully. “What noise?”

“ _That_ noise,” Otabek said. “It sounds like someone moving furniture upstairs.”

Yuri burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Otabek asked.

Yuri struggled to answer through his laughter. “It’s Grandpa snoring.”

Otabek’s mouth hung open briefly. “Are you kidding?”

Still giggling, Yuri shook his head.

Otabek groaned. “Tell me your father doesn’t snore like that too.”

“What?” Yuri tried not to show his alarm at the mention of his father. “What do you mean?”

“If all the men in your family snore like _that_ , I might have to rethink this relationship.”

Yuri prodded Otabek’s side, though he’d already established—and this was _completely_ unfair—that Beka wasn’t ticklish.

“You know I don’t snore. Have I snored once?”

“What about when you get older? Will you grow a beard and start snoring and making weird piroshki?” Otabek poked Yuri’s stomach in retaliation. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind if you learned to cook.”

Yuri jumped away to the far end of the sofa to avoid any further tickling. He tried not to think about the implication that Beka might still be around when they were Grandpa’s age. Otabek was only joking.

“I don’t think you should be complaining about the snoring,” Yuri said. He knelt on the couch.

“No?”

Yuri shook his head. “Because as long as Grandpa’s snoring, we know he’s all the way upstairs, fast asleep. So we can do whatever we want.”

“Yuri, the sound of your grandfather snoring isn’t exactly an aphrodisiac.”

Yuri crawled toward Otabek, who raised his eyebrows, looking more and more alarmed as Yuri approached. Setting a hand firmly on each of Otabek’s shoulders to pin him against the cushions, Yuri swung one leg over to straddle Beka’s lap. Otabek’s eyes went wide, but he closed them and tilted up his chin when Yuri leaned close for a kiss.

*****

When Yuri woke on Sunday morning, he jumped out of bed right away. He’d left Beka to his own devices too often. Grandpa’s interrogation had tapered off the evening before, but Yuri still wanted to make more of an effort to be around on the last day of their visit.

When Yuri peeked into the kitchen, he found Otabek and Grandpa at the table. Between them sat a backgammon board and matching cups of coffee. Apparently Grandpa wasn’t even trying to get Otabek to talk. Both seemed content to play their game in companionable silence.

Yuri snuck away before they noticed him. Knowing they’d grown comfortable with one another, he could probably steal another hour or two of sleep.

When Yuri woke the second time, it was after ten. The coffee mugs on the kitchen table had been replaced by water glasses, but the tableau was otherwise unchanged. Yuri gulped down the last piroshok for breakfast while watching Grandpa and Otabek finish their game.

Grandpa won and reached across the board to shake Beka’s hand with exaggerated formality as he stood. “I enjoyed playing with you, Otabek.”

“Likewise, sir.”

After an affectionate pat on Yuri’s shoulder, Grandpa withdrew to the other room with the newspaper.

“Coffee?” Otabek asked.

“I can get it,” Yuri said.

“I don’t mind.”

Beka rose from his chair and crossed to the stove, where Grandpa always kept the pot warm for Yuri, knowing how much he liked to sleep late. Even when Otabek did something simple like pouring coffee into a mug, Yuri loved watching him. His movements were so efficient—no effort wasted, which had a kind of beauty that Yuri had never noticed in anyone else.

When Otabek set the coffee on the table in front of Yuri, he said thank you by reaching for Beka’s hand and giving it a squeeze. He squeezed back, then gave Yuri’s hand a playful tug.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

Yuri looked up from his coffee cup. “A walk?”

Otabek nodded.

“I’m still in my pajamas.”

“You could get dressed. The skating rink is out. But what else do you want to show me? Your first school? The park where you played as a kid?”

“We can walk to the park if you want,” Yuri said. “There’s nothing exciting there, but I guess the trees are pretty.”

“Sounds good.”

“It’ll be snowy. You wanna borrow Grandpa’s galoshes?”

One side of Otabek’s mouth twitched. Yuri wanted to kiss him there and spent a few moments just staring before remembering that he could. After a glance over his shoulder to make sure Grandpa was safely in the other room, Yuri leaned close and gave Beka a quick peck. An actual smile bloomed on Otabek’s face.

“I think I’ll be all right. I have a spare pair.”

On his way upstairs to get dressed, Yuri paused to tell Grandpa their plan.

“It’s cold today,” Grandpa said. “You should want to wear your good coat.”

Usually Yuri would ignore a suggestion like that, just to be contrary. But today—maybe because his kiss had made Beka smile—he didn’t feel contrary. He thanked Grandpa, and just before heading out the door, he got his down coat from the closet, where he had hidden it away last winter after his tutor, a bookish kind of guy, had told him he looked like “a nineteenth century prince” with the fur around his hood.

Even though the sun was bright, the air was bitterly cold. The slush and puddles on the pavement had refrozen overnight, making for a dingy icescape all along the road and the path leading up to the park, but once they ventured under the trees, the snow was still pretty.

“It’s empty,” Otabek said.

“It’s cold,” Yuri said. “Most people stay inside when it’s this cold. But I don’t mind having the place to ourselves, because it means I can do this.”

Yuri slipped his gloved hand into Otabek’s. He was ready to let go if Beka seemed at all uncomfortable holding hands in public, but instead, his fingers tightened around Yuri’s. Their shoulders bumped as they walked.

“What time is our train?” Otabek asked.

“I don’t remember exactly,” Yuri answered. “It’s pretty late though. After lunch.”

Otabek nodded.

Yuri almost pulled his phone out of his pocket to check their tickets but stopped himself, thinking of Grandpa’s watch. He would enjoy the walk with Beka and worry about the schedule later. Beka would have to go back to Almaty the day after tomorrow, and Yuri didn’t want to waste a minute.

“We only have a couple more days,” Yuri whispered.

Beka squeezed Yuri’s hand and said, “I was thinking about it last night. I should probably go home from here rather than go all the back to St. Petersburg.”

Yuri was so startled by the idea that he stopped in his tracks. “You’re not coming back with me?”

Beka’s head snapped up. “No, no, I just meant it would make sense. I didn’t say I was going to do it. I don’t want to leave at all.”

“Okay good,” Yuri said. “We’ll get to sleep together, even if it’s just for a couple nights.”

Beka tugged on Yuri’s hand. “Just sleep.”

“We’ll see,” Yuri said, grabbing Beka’s scarf and reeling him in for a kiss.

Otabek hugged Yuri tight and leaned into the kiss until they tipped off balance. Yuri let out an embarrassing squawk. He would have ended up on his ass in the snow if a sturdy birch hadn’t stopped his fall. After a quick relieved exhale, Otabek dove in for another kiss. Yuri let his head fall back against the trunk and threw both arms around Beka’s neck. 

Yuri slipped his tongue between Otabek’s lips, and he groaned. His hands slid from Yuri’s back to his sides, holding him steady as Beka pressed even closer, shoving one knee between Yuri’s thighs.

It was mostly Beka’s eagerness that made Yuri’s heart race, because it was impossible to feel Beka’s body through their coats and sweaters and scarves. He had a vice grip on Yuri’s hips though. It reminded Yuri of being on the couch the night before—Otabek’s hands had been on his hips then too, but instead of drawing him in, Otabek had prevented him from getting too close.

Yuri tried to push the memory out of his mind, but it nagged. Otabek said he wanted Yuri, but sometimes he didn’t act like it. But now— _now_ , when they couldn’t really do anything, he was all pushy?

Otabek traced a trail of hot kisses down Yuri’s neck, growling in frustration as he tried to nudge Yuri’s scarf aside with his nose.

“Wait,” Yuri gasped. “Beka, _wait_.”

Instantly, Otabek’s head popped up. “Sorry,” he panted. He was just as breathless as Yuri. “I’m sorry, Yuri. I don’t mean to rush you.”

“No, don’t be _sorry_ —it’s _fine_. I _like_ it. It’s just—” Yuri shook his head, trying to clear the dizzying mixture of lust and confusion. “I don’t get it. All this time you’ve been telling me to cool it. Then out here, where anyone could walk by and we have fourteen layers of clothes on, you get all hot?”

Yuri meant to say it like a joke, but every time Otabek pulled away or stilled Yuri’s hands, it stung, so he wasn’t very good at faking humor.

“Yuri.” Otabek pulled away. “Yuri, look at me.”

As he lifted his gaze, Yuri was surprised to see that Otabek’s cheeks were flushed. Was it from the cold? Or embarrassment? Or was he turned on?

Yuri reached out to touch Beka’s face, and he turned to kiss Yuri’s palm.

“I didn’t mean you had to stop,” Yuri said lamely.

Otabek bent to press his forehead against Yuri’s.

“That’s just it. Sometimes I’m afraid if we go too far, it’ll be too hard to stop.”

“What? Beka, that doesn’t make any sense. I don’t _want_ you to stop. But if I did, you’d stop. I know you would.”

“Yuri, that’s not what I mean. Of course I would. I just don’t want to get ahead of ourselves.”

“Wait, is that why you let loose out here? Because you know we can’t do much?”

Yuri shoved at Otabek’s chest. Not too rough—just enough of a push to get him back off so Yuri could see his face.

“When we have privacy, you’re constantly pushing me away. And then out here, or when my grandfather’s just upstairs, you let something happen because you know we won’t go too far?”

Otabek didn’t answer.

Yuri had had enough of the strong, silent routine. He wanted Otabek to explain. And to stop holding back and stop sending mixed signals. And treating him like a kid.

Yuri was a heartbeat away from opening his mouth and letting all of his frustration spew out in a torrent of angry words, but at the last second, he stopped. He couldn’t feel proud of his self-control, because it wasn’t maturity that made him shut the hell up—it was fear. He was afraid if he poured out all that emotion, it would chase Otabek away.

So he squashed it all down and shoved his fists into his pockets.

“We should go back.”

“Yuri, I—”

Yuri turned and stomped away through the snow.

“Grandpa will have lunch ready soon. And I still have to pack.”

*****

For a long time after Yuri started training in St. Petersburg, he felt gutted every time Grandpa dropped him off to catch his train after a visit home. Lately, it had gotten easier, but he still didn’t _like_ walking away from Grandpa, feeling lonely in the midst of the bustling crowd. The hassle of navigating the passages and escalators of the huge station seemed overwhelming.

This time, any sadness from saying good bye was banished instantly by the gentle pressure of Otabek’s hand on his back and quickly followed by a thrill at the prospect of sharing a bed that night. Plus Beka, a more experienced traveler, took the lead, allowing Yuri to follow along without worrying about how to find the correct platform.

Otabek also seemed to intuitively understand Yuri’s mood. He found them seats at the end of the car, so that they were facing a bulkhead rather than two strangers. He gestured for Yuri to take the window seat, and once they were settled, he took Yuri’s hand. He didn’t try to get Yuri to talk or—and this would have been way worse—offer sympathy.

What good would it do to whine about how little time he spent with his grandfather? Otabek, Yuri, and even Grandpa knew that these were the things you gave up if you wanted to get ahead.

Yuri turned this way and that in his chair, restless until he finally found a position comfortable enough to offer at least a hope of napping. He kept his eyes closed for what seemed like forever before giving up with a sigh. Otabek dozed in the seat next to him, but for most of the long ride, Yuri’s brain was spinning. No matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to slow his thoughts.

Yuri’s tiny apartment seemed especially grim when he first opened the door. That hadn’t changed: after the familiar coziness of home, the dormitories were dark and sterile.

“Welcome home,” Yuri said under his breath.

“Yuri?” Otabek dropped his bag and stepped close to put on hand on Yuri’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“It’s fine,” Yuri said. “I’m fine.”

Ignoring the words, Beka pulled him into a hug, and Yuri clung shamelessly, burying his face in the crook of Otabek’s neck. After several long moments, Otabek rubbed Yuri’s back.

“Yuri? What’s wrong with your cat?”

Yuri pulled away and scanned the room until he saw Potya staring out the window, willfully ignoring their presence. Her stubbornness made him laugh.

“She’s pissed I was gone.”

“I thought Mila was checking on her,” Otabek said.

“I’m sure she did. Mila wouldn’t forget. The stupid cat always does this. She’ll come around at dinner time. But it’s so late. Wait a sec.”

Yuri pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to ask Mila if she’d already given Potya dinner. After receiving confirmation that she’d been there just a couple of hours before, he thought of Grandpa’s present and patted at the weight of the watch in his pocket. Then he sent a quick thank you to Mila, silenced the phone, and set it aside.

Otabek crossed the room to greet Potya, but when he tried to pet her, she glared at him disdainfully before jumping off the windowsill and creeping behind the chair in the corner.

“You’re just giving her what she wants,” Yuri said. “That’s why she pouts—to make you feel guilty so you’ll give her attention. Or treats.”

He half-expected her to peek out from behind the chair when she heard that last word, but she remained hidden.

“Are you tired?” Otabek said, returning to Yuri’s side. “We could go to bed early.”

Yuri flashed a suggestive smile—at least he hoped it was suggestive. He’d have to try it out in the mirror to make sure. At any rate, it didn’t have any effect on Otabek, who was reaching for Yuri’s laptop.

“We could watch a movie,” Otabek suggested.

That sounded pretty damn good. And maybe snuggling up close would spark Beka’s passion—like in the park that morning.

“You pick something good,” said Yuri. “I’m going to grab a quick shower.”

Before Yuri could head to the bedroom, he heard Potya scratching at the threadbare carpet. He dove for the chair to peer over the back. “What are you doing back there, cat?”

Potya stared up at him, defiant but guilty.

“Don’t you dare pee back there!” Yuri reached down with one hand to nudge Potya out from behind the chair. “I’d better check her litter box. When she’s being a brat like this, she’ll use any excuse to piss me off.”

Yuri was quick refreshing Potya’s box, but by the time he made it to his bedroom, Otabek was already lounging on the bed in sweatpants. His T-shirt was so faded from washing it looked more gray than black. Yuri was ready to climb into bed, press up close, and put his head on Beka’s chest to feel the softness of that worn shirt on his cheek, but he wanted to clean up first. Being able to roll out of bed at the last minute before practice would make it a lot easier to face morning.

As Yuri headed for the shower, he grabbed a pair of pajama pants. His mischievous side wanted to strut out of the bathroom stark naked—just to see how Otabek would react—but he hesitated to test the limits.

As Yuri brushed his teeth, he realized he should have brought a comb to tame his hair, which was tangled in weird clumps over his ears. He hung up his towel and made a beeline for the dresser, hoping to get his hair under control before Otabek saw. After the worst tangles were combed out, Yuri glanced at Otabek in the mirror to see if he’d noticed.

Otabek was looking, but not at Yuri’s head. His eyes were fixed somewhat southward.

_Is he looking at my ass?_

Yuri stifled a smug smile. The pajamas he was wearing _were_ kind of thin and clingy.

He continued working the comb through his hair and watched the mirror surreptitiously as he shifted his weight from his left foot to his right, letting his right hip jut out. Otabek’s gaze followed the movement, his head tilting almost imperceptibly. The tip of his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip.

_He does want me._

Yuri’s heart rattled in his chest. He was tempted to turn around, point a finger, and shout, _A-ha! Caught you!_

Instead, he very carefully combed out each and every tangle, spent longer than strictly necessary rummaging in his bottom drawer for a sweatshirt—making sure to aim his ass in Otabek’s direction, of course—then put his arms above his head in a languorous stretch. 

After dragging the moment out as much as possible, Yuri turned to Otabek, who quickly averted his eyes and grabbed the computer from the nightstand.

“You want to watch something?” Otabek asked, already opening the laptop. “Or should we just go to sleep?”

Yuri didn’t answer. When Otabek looked up, he tossed the sweatshirt aside and took a step toward the bed. Beka’s eyes went wide.

“Yuri?”

Moving slowly, Yuri crossed the carpet and put one knee up on the mattress. Then he crawled over Otabek’s body, moving up to straddle his hips, and leaned down for a kiss.

Otabek ran his hands up Yuri’s legs. The old, worn fabric of Yuri’s pajamas weren’t much of a barrier, and his body tingled wherever Beka touched.

Yuri’s arms trembled, and he moaned into Otabek’s mouth. Beka groaned in response. His hands slid up over Yuri’s hips, then his ribs, skimming over bare skin as he craned up for more kisses.

“ _Yuri_.”

He said the name in that way Yuri had come to dread: fond and indulgent, but clearly a warning to slow down.

Yuri ignored him, allowing his still-shaking arms to bend and his knees to slide apart, lowering himself slowly. He held his breath, anticipating the feeling—so ready to press close to Beka’s chest, stomach, hips. But just before he made contact, Otabek’s hands clamped onto his hips to hold him still. He pressed one last kiss to Yuri’s lips before gently lifting him, putting too much chilly air between their bodies.

Yuri jerked away and flopped down cross-legged on the far side of the mattress. He crossed his arms too, just in case his frustration wasn’t clearly communicated.

“Yuri?”

Beka’s hand settled on Yuri’s lower back, then traced the line of his spine upward.

“I’m sorry, Yuri. I just don’t want things to go too fast.”

“I thought—” Yuri let out a huffing breath. “The way you were looking at me—but you still don’t want to—” He cut himself off. He didn’t want to get too specific. Talking about it was _not_ sexy. He finished the sentence lamely: “—do stuff?”

“I do want to do stuff.” Otabek sat up and moved closer. “Of course I do.”

“Then why—?” Yuri flailed in the general direction of Otabek’s chest. “Why don’t you—?”

“Yuri, I don’t understand.” Otabek’s brows slanted down in a frown. “You still think I don’t want you?”

Yuri spun away, but before he got one foot on the floor to flee, Otabek grabbed him, pulling him into a hug.

“That is so—” Otabek paused to kiss the side of Yuri’s head. “You couldn’t be more wrong. I want you _so much_.” He caressed Yuri’s bare shoulder, but then snatched his hand away as if burned. “Wow, I just—okay. Let me calm down for a second.”

That was a surprise—there was nothing about Beka that seemed _un_ -calm. Was it harder for him to put on the brakes than Yuri thought?

Otabek took several deep breaths, then reached for Yuri’s hand. When he started talking, he fixed his eyes on their linked hands, and Yuri had to lean in close to hear him.

“You know I don’t like to talk about myself. And I wasn’t sure how much of this kind of thing you’d want to hear. That’s why I haven’t told you any of this. It wasn’t like I was trying to keep it from you.”

Yuri nodded. He couldn’t guess where this was going. Otabek sounded guilty, or maybe ashamed, but Yuri couldn’t imagine him having some deep dark secret. 

“You know I was in the U.S. before Montreal,” Otabek said.

“Yeah.”

“The training center was in Colorado. It was my first time away from home. Away from my parents and my friends. I think because nobody really knew me, it was easier for me to think about guys. I mean, I’d known for a while that I was gay. I just wasn’t ready to tell everyone back home.”

Yuri squeezed Beka’s hand.

“Halfway around the world, it was easier,” Otabek continued. “So when this nice-looking guy smiled at me every time we passed each other, I tried to smile back.”

“Was he a skater?”

Beka shook his head. “He worked there part-time. Mostly in the laundry. He was in college. I had just turned seventeen.”

So far, Yuri didn’t like where this story was headed. He had a feeling it wasn’t going to end happy.

“I was lonely. My English wasn’t all that good yet, and you know I’m not exactly outgoing. He would hang around after his shift and watch the skaters. He flirted with me, and I was flattered.”

“What did he look like?” Yuri asked. He couldn’t figure out if he was hoping the guy resembled him or not.

Otabek made a face. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we rushed into everything.”

“You’re mad about that?”

Yuri couldn’t blame the guy: who in their right mind would slow things down if a guy like Beka was ready to fool around?

“Yeah, I am,” Otabek said.

The answer had come quickly, like he didn’t have any doubt about how he felt. But after he said it, he glanced up, like he was worried about Yuri’s reaction.

“He was older,” Otabek said. “Twenty. And a lot more experienced. He knew how lonely I was, the pressure I was under, and he still let me rush in headlong. He even teased me about it—the way I hurried into things. Called me his hopeless romantic.”

It was hard to imagine Beka rushing into anything. Why couldn’t Yuri have been lucky enough to meet Beka back when he was reckless?

“That’s why I want to go slow,” Otabek said, grabbing Yuri’s knee with his free hand. “I don’t want to be careless with you like he was with me.”

At first that sounded pretty good to Yuri, but the longer he thought about it, the more it bothered him.

“Wait,” Yuri said. “You want to go slow so that when we break up, there’s less to feel bad about?”

“No, Yuri, _no_ , that’s not what I mean at all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I want to go slow because I don’t want to break up. If we wait to take each step until we’re sure we’re ready for it, we’ll do everything right.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe it doesn’t.” Otabek sighed. “I just know I don’t want to screw things up with you, and it’s not like I have a lot of experience with this, but I do know that sex just made everything more complicated.”

The word _sex_ made Yuri sit up straight, startled. Which was probably pretty good evidence that Otabek was right: Yuri wasn’t ready for that yet.

“And—” Otabek cut himself off and bowed his head.

“What?” Yuri said “Beka, what is it?”

There was a long silence before Beka answered.

“The way things were, after that guy dumped me? I don’t want to feel that way again.”

Yuri held Beka’s hand tight but didn’t know what to say. It hadn’t occurred to him that Otabek might be protecting himself just as much as he was protecting Yuri.

Still, jealousy burned like a hot coal in the pit of Yuri’s stomach. He was jealous of the Colorado guy, even though it didn’t make any sense to be mad about something that had happened before they knew each other. He was jealous of Otabek’s experience too. It made him feel like a kid. It would be easier, somehow, if Otabek were just as clueless as he was about this stuff.

And even though he knew that Otabek was just trying to be smart, a small, secret part of Yuri wished that Beka was ready to be a dumb kid. Just because he wanted Yuri too damn much to hold back, even if moving slowly was the right thing to do.

“I’ve spent way too much time thinking about this,” Otabek said. “But after it was over, I kept asking myself if we’d been more cautious—gone more slowly—it might not have burned out so fast.”

Panic overtook the jealousy in Yuri’s belly. “You wish it had worked out with him?”

Otabek grimaced, like the idea disgusted him. “No, of course not. He wasn’t right for me, and if things hadn’t ended like they did, maybe I wouldn’t be here with you, and that’s more important to me than anything.”

Otabek reached out and pushed the hair out of Yuri’s face. Yuri couldn’t doubt Beka’s words when his eyes were filled with such heartfelt sincerity.

“I don’t want to make the same mistakes,” Otabek said. “That’s all it is.”

Beka leaned in and kissed him then, and Yuri wanted to melt into his arms. He wanted the conversation to be _over_ , but they’d come this far. They might as well put everything on the table.

“Beka?” 

“Yes?”

“I think I understand better.”

“Good,” Otabek said, pulling Yuri into a hug. “Thank you.”

Being so close, his head tucked under Otabek’s chin, made it harder to keep going, but it was important.

“But what about what I want?”

There was dead silence for a moment before Otabek’s arms tightened around Yuri’s body.

“Yuri, I’m sorry.” Otabek sounded downright horrified. “I didn’t mean that what you want doesn’t matter.”

“I know that,” Yuri said, though it was hard to get enough breath to speak, as hard as Beka was squeezing him. “I just mean you’re taking all of this on yourself. Like you have to make all the decisions, and if something goes wrong it’s all your fault.”

“You’re right.” Otabek loosened his hold on Yuri, just a little, and rubbed his back. “You’re right. So tell me what you want.”

Yuri closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of Beka’s hands running slowly up and down his back.

“Yuri?”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just—” Yuri pulled away, just enough so that he could look up at Otabek’s face. “I don’t really know what I want.”

Beka tucked Yuri’s hair behind his ear. “That’s okay.”

“There is one thing I wanted to ask you. . . .”

“Of course,” Otabek said promptly.

“Well, when Grandpa picked us up at the station, I wanted to introduce you. Formally—you know what I mean? But I didn’t know if it was okay to call you my boyfriend.”

“Yeah.” Beka smiled. “It’s okay.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Yuri—as long as it’s what you want too.”

“Yeah. But Beka?”

“Yeah?”

“Does that mean—?”

“What?”

“I thought maybe you’d want—I mean, because we won’t be able to see each other much, I thought maybe you’d want to date other people.”

Yuri’s cheeks were getting hot, but Beka was still smiling.

“Yuri, it’s not like I have time to date, even if I wanted to see other people.”

“So you don’t want to?”

“Not in the slightest,” Otabek said. “But if you want to—”

“No,” Yuri answered quickly. “Not at all.”

“Okay then.” After another kiss, Beka leaned down to study Yuri’s face, gazing at him intently. “So you feel better?”

“Yeah. . . .”

But even as Yuri said it, he realized he didn’t sound very convincing.

“I promise you,” Beka said. “I _swear_ to you: the fact that I want to wait does not mean I don’t want you. I want you so much, I don’t even know how to tell you.”

After another long kiss, Otabek whispered, “I even dream about you.”

“ _What?_ You mean _sexy_ dreams?”

Otabek fell back on the bed, hiding his face. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Beka, that’s _so hot!_ ” Yuri said as he climbed on top of Otabek and tried to pry his hands away from his bright red cheeks. “Tell me about them!”

“No!”

“C’mon, please?” Yuri peppered Beka’s face with kisses. “ _Please_.”

Even though he couldn’t get Otabek to tell him even the smallest detail, just knowing that it had happened—that Beka wanted him so much he dreamed about it—made Yuri feel worlds better.

“I can’t tell you,” Otabek said. He tugged Yuri down, trying to hide in Yuri’s hair. “There’s no way I could say it out loud.”

Yuri slipped one arm under Beka’s neck, hugging him tight, then shifted to lie on the bed next to him, propped up on one elbow so that he could smile down at him.

Yuri noticed that Beka’s T-shirt had ridden up, exposing a few inches of skin above the waistband of his sweats. It was impossible to resist the temptation to touch Beka there—warm and soft under Yuri’s fingertips—and to slide his hand up under the shirt, skimming over Beka’s flat stomach.

When Yuri had tried to touch Otabek like this before, he gently but firmly put a stop to it. He would rest his hand over Yuri’s and hold it still or say Yuri’s name in that particular way he had. This time, though, Beka just closed his eyes and let his head fall to one side to rest against Yuri’s chest. Maybe he could tell that Yuri wouldn’t push anymore. Yuri was careful to keep his touch slow and playful. It was affectionate, intimate, even sensual, but not demanding.

Just as Yuri bent his head for a kiss, Potya leapt onto the bed, announcing her arrival with a loud _meow_.

“See?” Yuri said. “I told you she’d come around.” He didn’t want to pull his hand away from Beka’s warm skin, but he could only bear Potya’s accusing glare for so long. “Come here, you stupid cat.”

He reached out to scratch under her chin, but that wasn’t enough for her. She wanted his undivided attention and wasn’t daunted by Beka’s presence between them. She walked right over him, ignoring his groan of protest.

“How does she do that?” Otabek asked. “She’s come to sit with me before, and she never seemed so heavy. This time, I feel like her feet are going to poke right through my ribcage.”

“Come on, you brat.” Yuri rolled onto his back and patted his chest. “Come sit with me.”

She meowed one more time in complaint, but then sprawled out on top of Yuri, turning her head to show him exactly where she wanted to be scratched. 

Potya started to purr, and Beka shifted to snuggle closer. Yuri closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so content.

“Yuri?”

“Yeah?”

“The cat is staring at me. She looks angry. I thought she liked me.”

“She’s probably jealous. Before you, she was the only person who’s ever been in my bed, other than me.”

“She’s a cat, not a person.”

“She probably doesn’t like you because you say things like that.”

Otabek hugged Yuri tighter and said, “She really is glaring at me.”

“You’re imagining things,” Yuri said.

Beka pulled away and sat up. Potya’s head turned, her eyes following him.

“See?” Otabek said. “Did you see that?”

“Okay, maybe she does look kind of pissed off.”

Otabek bent down to look her right in the eye, but Potya didn’t back down. She didn’t even blink. She just kept right on glaring.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Otabek said, as he gave up and flopped back onto the mattress. “When we do have sex, we’re going to have to close the door. I won’t be able to do anything with her watching.”

As absurd as the statement was, it made Yuri feel twenty times lighter. Beka said _when_ , not _if_. He was assuming it would happen someday. He was so certain it was in their future that he could joke about it.

“As you just pointed out,” Yuri said. “She’s a cat, not a person.”

“I still don’t want her watching!”

Yuri laughed, and Potya jumped away, annoyed.

“You’re ridiculous,” Yuri said, rolling onto his side to wrap his arms around Beka’s neck. “I love you so much.”

Yuri said it without thinking. Not that it wasn’t true, but just blurting it out like that—almost casually, while laughing at something so silly? It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing that epic romances were made of. Romeo would never say, _You’re ridiculous, and by the way, I love you_.

But instead of looking startled by the declaration or disappointed by the timing, Beka wore the sappiest expression ever. When Yuri saw a character in a movie with that look on his face, he hated it. It seemed so _fake_. Nobody looked at somebody else with that much love just pouring out all over the place.

But here was Beka, gazing down at Yuri as if he could die happy after hearing those words.

Seeing that look on Otabek’s face—it was enough. It was more than enough to make Yuri happy too. Beka didn’t need to say anything. But he said it anyway—quiet, breathless, joyful, and punctuated with a sweet kiss.

Perfect.


End file.
